


Target Practice

by jessahmewren



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008)
Genre: F/M, MSR, Making Up, One Shot, Post-The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12901350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/pseuds/jessahmewren
Summary: Mulder and Scully make up after an argument. Written for the Xmas Files Challenge on Tumblr.  Day Three: Sweater.





	Target Practice

-0-0-0-

Leaves crunched under Mulder’s feet as he adjusted his stance. The backyard was littered with the small gnarled fingers of larger limbs that, having snapped under the biting winter wind, now intermingled with the burned-paper trappings of maple and birch. The few trees that had retained their finery rustled faintly in the late afternoon cool.

They hadn’t made up before she’d left for work.

He peered down the barrel of the Glock and pumped a few rounds into the well-hewn center of the large oak behind their unassuming white wooden house.  It was well off the beaten path and went unnoticed by most.  You could shoot like this in the country, and Mulder intended to keep his skills in check for when he and Scully were back into the swing of things.

Boy, that was a loaded statement, he thought bleakly.

He raised the gun again. His tan face was slightly chapped and his hair, just a little longer than he wore it when he was an agent with the FBI, waggled faintly in the breeze.

The muscles in his arms flexed minutely with practiced rhythm, an action as easy to him as breathing.

He was glad Scully had her work, and that she could focus on healing and helping others.  Scully had always been servant-oriented--as a profiler he had picked up on that right away--and so, so loving. He thanked the Universe or whoever was listening every day that he was the object of just some of that love.  

“Hey.”

He would know that voice anywhere, and he turned to follow it.  She was standing at the side of the house where the backyard begins, in tall brown leather boots, leggings, and a green cowl neck sweater and scarf that ignited the fire in her hair.  Something inside him unknotted when he looked at her, and Mulder lay his gun on the rail of the fence and walked steadily in her direction.  

He took her briefcase from her and set it down on a nearby patio table.  She loosened her scarf, pursing her plum-stained lips in that perfectly Scully way of hers.  He had to stop himself from claiming her mouth with his. After the things they’d said to each other, he was wary of taking that liberty.  

“There was rush hour traffic,” Scully said flatly, but her eyes were deep blue and searching. Mulder took her face in his hands and gently kissed her cheek. “I’m so glad you made it home safely,” he said gently.

Mulder could feel her smile against him, and then suddenly recoil.  “Mulder, your nose is freezing.  What have you been doing out here?”  

He chuckled lightly, almost abashedly.  “Target practice,” he said glibly.  “That tree doesn’t move, Scully.  Bullseye every time.”  He flashed her the boyish grin that could make her follow him anywhere.  Then hesitating only a moment, reached a hand around her small waist and kissed her.  Her hair was long, and it hung silkily against her emerald green sweater and brushed the back of his other hand.  Scully tasted like Chap Stick and spearmint gum.

“I’ve missed you,” he said into her ear.  She looked at him evenly as he pulled away, the ghosts of last night’s argument still lingering, Mulder could see.  Her face was largely unreadable.

The sun continued its slow descent, and as Scully stood there in its dying light, its rays sifting through her titian hair, he wanted nothing more than to gather her up, but he matched her gaze instead.  

“How was work?”

She wrinkled her nose, and the corners of her mouth dropped a little.  “Terrible.”

Mulder looked at her steadily.  “Yeah, I kind of figured that.”  

At first Mulder had missed the simpatico of their working side-by-side, the balance of him and Scully in the field, but her absence during most of his day made their evening reunions all the more memorable.  .  

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She closed the space between them, wrapping her arms stiffly around his middle.  She lay her head on his shoulder, resting her face in the crook of his neck and closed her eyes.  Despite her embrace, her body was rigid.  “Not really.”  

He tightened his arms around her, stroking her hair lightly as it fell down her back.  “God, I’m sorry,” he said tightly.

“Me too,” she said into his neck.  “I know you were just worried about me.”  

They were quiet for a few moments, just holding each other.  “Tell me what you need, Scully.” 

Her eyes darted to the dimpled surface of the old oak, and then to Mulder’s gun still resting atop the fence post.  She straightened and looked at him, reaching behind her for the gun she still carried, concealed, wherever she went.  She cocked it.  

A wry grin quirked the corners of her mouth as one auburn eyebrow shot skyward.  “Maybe a little stress relief?”

He watched her stride to the place by the fence where he had stood before and plant her tiny feet into the dry leaves.  He looked at her, still smiling.  He was the luckiest man alive.  

-0-0-0-

 


End file.
